


A Winter's Wish

by misbegotten



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fandom Stocking 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: They meet on far-flung worlds.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jena Bartley (jenab)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenab/gifts).



They meet on far-flung worlds. Obi-Wan likes this one; it has a variety of climates, and right now they are in a lush resort that features a wall of perfectly-sealed windows with a breathtaking view of the world's highest mountain. Snow is falling, delicate white flakes that settle into a blanket of calm, and remind him of the paint with which Padmé used to hide her features as Queen Amidala.

She goes by another name now. But the children, Luke and Leia, simply know her as "mother." It is a title she bears gladly. And if theirs is a rootless existence, always on the move, at least they have each other. And, occasionally, Obi-Wan has them.

Tonight, the children are tucked in bed, exhausted after indulging in a local gift-giving custom that yielded a variety of toys, miniature droids (one of which, inexplicably, seems to exist only to pick up debris from the floor) and plush representations of the world's wildlife. Obi-Wan is idly petting a stuffed Be'ar with remarkably soft fur when Padmé settles in the chair with him, wrapping her small form around him, their bodies meeting in familiar places as she twines one hand through his hair and rests her head on his shoulder.

"The children want to build a snow creature tomorrow," she observes. Her breath is soft on his skin, gentle traces of her beloved voice that whisper against him and then are gone. Much like their time together. He, the last of the Jedi, has to remain in hiding as much as she and the children do. That they must remain in seclusion separately, seeing one another so infrequently, tugs at his heart. That he cannot watch the children, _his_ children, grow tears at him. They call him Papa Ben, and shriek with delight when they see him, small hands grasping at the robes that he refuses to shed despite their association with the Jedi of old. 

He will shed them now, though, at least temporarily. For her. She is plucking at them already, eager to touch the flesh beneath them. Likewise, he is consumed by a fire as white hot as the snow outside is frozen, as penetrating as its chill but something much more welcome, something akin to a clawing fever. 

Love, he admits to himself. Love, and bodily worship, and unspoken vows. They consume him as readily as she does, embrace him as she enfolds him into her arms, overwhelm him as the Force does when he enters her, a communion of souls.

Afterwards, he draws his discarded robe over her to conserve their body heat. It's a cocoon from which he never wants to emerge, and as she hooks his bare thigh with one foot to draw him even closer, he thinks that this time he never will. This time, perhaps, he will get his wish -- a family, a home for them, a chance to train his young Force sensitives properly, a refuge from the wrath of the Empire and the twisted creature she once called husband and he once called friend.

It is a good wish, a hopeful one, and it carries him to peaceful sleep. In the morning, they will play in the snow. Tonight, he basks in the comfort of the one he calls his forever.


End file.
